Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender, and the plot line of this story is purely fabrication from the inner depths of my extremely warped mind.
A/N: Ok, woohoo, second chapter! Thank you to all my lovely reviews, they will keep this story going. I will give more information about what is actually going on in the present life of the Avatar as the story progresses but at the moment I am just keeping things vague. Much love!
TillThatTime
Warning: ANGST!
The Drug
The tension between his shoulder blades is enough of an inconvenience to keep his mind off of the nauseating feeling that has settled itself in his stomach. He leans against the metal walls of his cabin as he lets out the breath of air the he hadn't even been aware that he was holding. He reaches up to rub away the knot that has formed and an involuntary groan escapes his lips as moves his hand to work it away.
He is frustrated.
He reasons with himself that it is only because the boy has that damnable ability to really get under his skin and make him wish to Agni that he could just fry his face off with one fatal flick of the wrist and be done with him...
But, no.
That's not all there is to it, it sure as hell is a part of it, but there always has to be something more.
He feels ashamed.
Though he would never befoul himself by admitting it, in the depths of his mind, in the thoughts that he has long since locked away, he knows that he feels shame for what he did to the little bastard.
He sees those eyes, grey and full of life. Wide and filled with accusation. Shining with that unmistakable look of terror.
Fear of being deflowered brutally on the cold stone floor of some stench-ridden prison cell.
Fear of him.
His hands tremble as he stares down at them, both eyes, good and scarred, narrow at the sight of his obvious physical stigma, and a growl escapes his throat as he slams the treacherous hands up against the metal-working of his walls.
His breathing is shallow and he slumps to the floor from the exhaustion that has just now made itself apparent. He buries his face in his hands, his fingers entwining painfully into his hair as he wills himself to calm down.
To harden.
To be a man.
To drive away this feeling that screams of weakness and straighten himself back up to a position that signifies strength and dignity and everything that he's supposed to be.
Bu he can't do it.
No yet.
Because when he's alone, in the confines of his room, there is no more hiding. There is no pretending to be this strong-willed monster that he has fabricated for the world to see. There is only sickening truth that haunts him and taunts him and pisses him off to no end while the lies wait impatiently on the other side of the door.
So for a minute he will curl into his weakness and show only the walls that surround him what it looks like when the mighty fall.
In the past only his uncle had the displeasure of witnessing him like this, but now after one night of betrayal he is utterly alone and he tries to make his mind believe that he is better off this way when he thinks about Iroh locked away in a comfortably furnished room with plenty of tea, but a prisoner nonetheless.
Of course, aren't they really all just prisoners anyways? Prisoners of this god-forsaken war that has taken so much and given nothing in return. Captives to a time that no one can escape while he has the only hope for the world locked away to be beaten and molested by hands that only strive to receive the honor that he is no longer sure that he deserves.
"How does it feel to know that honor is something that you will never possess?"
Those snide words ring dangerously in his ears and his fist clench, causing the knuckles to turn a sickly white.
He rises suddenly, his jaw set firmly in place as his mind screams through all of his being that he does deserve his honor. He has worked, and sacrificed, and crawled his way through and that no little amount of guilt over a fucking insignificant, fifteen year old god-boy is going to change that fact.
He walks swiftly over to a small box that sits on a table opposite his cot and his mind jumps suddenly to the realization that the Avatar's ill state will not keep him incapacitated for long.
But something else will.
He opens the box slowly as he peers inside to look at its contents. In it sets a row of vials protected by the ragged bits of cloth surrounding them. He lifts one gingerly in his fingers, observing it through narrowed eyes.
The murky looks of the liquid in the vial betray its strength. It had been hard to come by, damn near impossible almost, but you can get almost anything in the world if you have enough money and you know where to look.
A sneer comes to his lips as he thinks about the power that lies inside the glass bottle. The ability to halt any type of bending and if you up the dosage, all four elements at once. Most don't even know that such a thing exists, but here it is, clutched in between his fingers and ready to do the job it was created to do.
He finds himself standing at the Avatar's cell door once more and he opens it, dismissing the guards that surround it. He walks in slowly, taking in everything that surrounds him before inevitably falling to the boy who sits curled in the corner.
The boy is watching him through wary eyes and as he approaches he notices how the boy flinches, pushing himself further into the wall, as if that would protect him, and he has to once again push away that damn feeling of guilt. His skin is pale and slick with sweat and Zuko has to wonder for a moment if it is from sickness or fear.
Or possibly both?
"Straighten up." He commands harshly to the boy and the Avatar doesn't even act as if he hears him. With a vexed growl he grabs him roughly by the shoulders to straighten him, and the boy lets out a groan of pain.
"Don't touch me, Zuko." He breathes out hoarsely and it is Zuko's turn to pretend he doesn't hear. He begins to examine to wound on the back of the boy's head and he tries to ignore the way the Avatar tries to wiggle out of his firm grasp.
"I said, don't touch me." He repeats, his voice rising and cracking from the effort. Zuko continues to hold on firmly as he applies some of the medicine that he brought with him to the wound.
"Get off me!" The boy screams and Zuko finds himself thrown ten feet back from a burst of wind that has come from the injured Avatar. He watches as the boy slumps back in exhaustion and Zuko rises slowly to his feet, knowing the he can't put off the inevitable.
He pulls the vial out from under his sash and holds it out. "Drink this." He commands in a soft voice and the boy gives him an incredulous look that all but screams 'Do you think I'm an idiot?'
"No." Comes the soft response, and Zuko finds himself angered by this expected refusal. He lunges at the boy, pinning him down completely and the Avatar's body goes completely rigid. He shakes his head back and forth, the word "don't" forming on his blood stained lips.
He's just a kid.
Zuko forces the boy's mouth open as he pours the vile liquid down the Avatar's throat. The boy gags and Zuko closes his mouth and waits for him to inevitably swallow. Once he is sure that the liquid has made its descent into the Avatar's stomach, Zuko lifts himself off the boy and watches.
The effects of the drug are violent, as he watches the boy throw his head back, a shout of pain escaping from his throat. The Avatar's body convulses and Zuko has to turn his head away to keep from looking. The screams fill the cold cell for seconds that seem like hours.
Then it stops, and the boy's body goes limp, and with tears streaming down his pale cheeks he can't find the strength to look up into his captor's face but he does whisper in a voice that would break Zuko's heart if it wasn't surrounded by stone, "What did you do to me?"
"Pleasant dreams, Avatar." He answers back, his cold tone giving away nothing of the battle that rages in his body. He turns and heads out of the cell, locking it securely behind him.
His mind works vigorously to block out the image of what he had just witnessed. It had been sickening to watch, but after all, it's a sick world.